Our Wedding
by Lunar1
Summary: Sequel to 'Posing the Question.' Here's what I think happened after Vimes made it out of the Assassin's Guild in 'Men at Arms.' Hope you enjoy!


Fred Colon pulled ex-Captain Vimes's jacket straight and brushed some lint of his shoulder. Through the thick oak door that lead to the Great Hall of Unseen University the buzz of a hundred or more voices was clearly audible. Colon met Vimes's eyes. Vimes was a nasty shade of green and the sergeant grinned slightly. "Feeling alright, Mister Vimes?" he asked.

Vimes made a noise in his throat which was about as close as he could come to speaking at this particular moment in time. He was exhausted, still bleeding slightly and really needed a nice weeks sleep before his brain could handle the events of the last few hours.

"Ah, you'll be fine sir," said Colon reassuringly, his grin growing larger, "Nothing to worry about."

"Any advice?" said Vimes as Colon laid a hand on the door knob.

Colon thought about it for a moment. Thirty years of experience came to his aid, and he wondered how to condense all the information he had gradually uncovered over that time into thirty seconds to tell the younger man. "Er," he said, "Well, my advice is be polite to any relatives, however strange they may seem, make sure you dance for at least half an hour, kiss her properly, compliment her on her dress and don't get her name wrong when they read out the vows," Colon winced in remembrance, "Don't argue; just put the cupboards up, agree with anything she says about wallpaper, carpets and kids, oh, and don't worry when she starts talking about curtains... it's a biological thing, happens to all women."

"R-ight," said Vimes as Colon opened the door. The buzz grew louder, reminding Vimes of an angry swarm of bees. The green colour faded to a ghostly grey as he walked towards the far end of the Hall where the Dean was waiting.

It is of course, practically mythical legend that the bride arrives late to her own wedding, and so as not to break with such time honoured tradition Lady Ramkin had been bundled into another anteroom upon arrival, along with her attendants and had sat very quietly as current events were explained to her. It had taken nearly forty minutes for Vimes to wash, dress his wounds and put on a clean suit after he had made it back from the Assassins Guild, so Sybil must have been waiting nearly two hours in the room. He wondered if he would be in for a telling off later.

Someone had been sent to retrieve her, so Vimes enjoyed his last few moments of freedom lurking near the organ, listening to the erratic and rapid beating of his own heart. There was a creak as someone opened the doors at the far end of the Hall and Vimes hurried back to where he was supposed to be standing. Sybil entered followed by her entourage of younger relatives, older friends and small children that had been swept up in the general swarm of people working at cross purposes. In the center of this uproar Sybil advanced seemingly unmoved. Vimes met her eyes and she smiled at him. 

The train dropped away as the relatives and friends collared the children and dragged them off to a pew, to leave Lady Ramkin alone for the last few steps to the makeshift altar. She stood next to Sam Vimes and whispered to him as the voices slowly died away. "You better have a good excuse." She was smiling as she said it but Vimes felt obliged to explain himself.

"Just made an arrest," he said and her smile widened.

"Havelock is fine," she said, "But he sends his apologies and says he might not be here for the service, mainly due to the fact he is having a lead pellet removed from his thigh."

"What a shame," Vimes murmured, not quite under his breath. 

The Dean coughed and the few remaining mutterers subsided into silence. Vimes, who's nervousness had evaporated slightly in the brief conversation felt his trepidation return full measure.

The service was mercifully quite short, as the religious aspect had been mostly cut at Vimes's request. There was very little for the Dean to do except read out the vows. It was Vimes's turn first.

He stuttered his way through the first few lines of the vows.

"Do you, Samuel Vimes, take this woman, Sybil Deidre Oglivanna Ramkin, to be your lawful wedded wife?" said the Dean and Vimes realised that it was nearly over. He said the words almost gratefully.

"I do."

Now it was Sybil's turn and Vimes watched her with a mixture of admiration and pride. His voice had shook slightly with his nervousness but Lady Sybil was seemingly /completely/ calm.

"Do you, Sybil Deidre Oglivanna Ramkin, take this man, Samuel Vimes, to be you lawful wedded husband?"

"I do."

He met her eyes and she grinned slightly; she'd threatened him with all sorts of different lines she might say in reply to that particular question, 'Yep,' 'You betcha,' 'Why not?' and he was intensely grateful that she had stuck to the traditional response.

"You may now kiss the bride," the Dean informed him and Vimes felt himself going red. However, he remembered Colon's advice, turned to Sybil and kissed her properly. Through his burning ears he could hear people cheering, but as they kissed he almost forgot about all the people watching, forgot about his own exhaustion and confusion, forgot how much his retirement had depressed him and blinked in surprise when they broke away and the volume in the Great Hall seemed to return.

He held out his arm and they walked slowly outside, the confetti falling around them like a blizzard. There was an iconographer waiting outside and they posed rather stiffly for some pictures before climbing into the waiting carriage which would take them to the reception at the Ramkin mansion. Vimes heaved a sigh of relief as they lurched off across the cobbles.

"Are you alright?" Sybil asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Just tired, dear, that's all," he said trying to blink away the exhaustion.

Lady Sybil took his hand and he appreciated the small comfort of her gesture as they pulled up outside the Ramkin mansion... although it was officially the Vimes mansion now...

They stepped down from the coach and walked towards the front door. "Do I have to carry you over the step now?" said Vimes a little doubtfully.

Lady Sybil laughed, "I don't think so," she said.

Vimes sagged a little with relief and they stepped inside. The house was lavishly decorated inside and the smell of food wafted through the rooms. There was a large marquee in the garden, drooping a little from the earlier rain, under which three long tables were almost breaking with the weight of the dishes upon dishes of food.

Various guests were arriving, Vimes could hear the crunch of the gravel under their feet. He shot Sybil a look of pure terror and she laughed. "You'll be fine!" she said, "Stop worrying!"

It was some time later, and having finished eating Vimes realised the band was waiting expectantly for him and his wife to rise. He stood up and moved over to the dance floor as the musicians struck up a slow waltz. They danced slowly and Vimes felt his face reddening once again as everyone watched. After the traditional first dance a few more people moved from their chairs and the Vimeses moved on to Phase Two of the wedding reception, thanking the guests for coming.

After they had thanked everyone at least twice, or so Vimes thought, they headed back towards the dance floor. It was thronged with people now and Vimes felt less self-conscious about his dancing. The musicians were winding up for the night, their songs becoming increasingly slower and more romantic. Lady Sybil's hands slid around his waist, and for a moment they were dancing cheek to cheek. Vimes suddenly felt very hot, he thought he could feel sweat soaking through his shirt as Sybil's hand brushed against it.

Sybil withdrew her hand suddenly and held it up for Vimes to see. It was red with blood, and looking down Vimes saw that blood was soaking through his shirt from the wound he had received to his chest. He swore. This was the second clean shirt today...

"Come on," said Sybil, "Let's get that patched up.."

"Won't someone notice if we sneak away?" Vimes whispered back, hurriedly pulling his jacket more firmly around him before anyone else noticed he was injured.

"We're the bride and groom, Sam. We're probably /supposed/ to sneak away." While Vimes blushed once more she added, "Anyway, they're going to let off the fireworks in a minute, everyone will be too busy watching them..."

She took his hand. It was either walk or be dragged, so he followed her up the stairs to the bedrooms.

To his surprise she didn't lead him to his own room, or hers, but to a bedroom he'd never been inside before. One that had previously been draped with dust sheets. There was a four poster bed the size of a small country, two sets of drawers and two doors to two different rooms. Sybil rummaged in one of the drawers and came out holding a small first aid kit. Sam Vimes sat down gingerly on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. 

The bandage he had quickly wrapped around himself before his wedding was thoroughly soaked with his blood and Sybil winced. "How did you do that?" she asked.

"A bit of stone caught me earlier," he said, not in the mood for explanations. He pinched the bridge of his nose again as his wife worked with a practiced ease to bandage his wounds. 

"You know, this reminds me of... the second time we met," she said and smiled at him.

Vimes's memory spun in a hurry. Oh yes, when the dragon had nearly killed him, had it not been for Carrot's quick thinking in throwing him off the roof, onto the privy roof and from there onto a water butt, which had broken his ribs. Lady Sybil had patched him up then, as well. He smiled weakly. "Yeah, I remember," he said, blinking with exhaustion.. His brain had roused itself from the stupor it had been settling into during the reception, and the depression he had forced away earlier was creeping back. 

Sybil surveyed him doubtfully. "You've had a rough time, haven't you?" she said sympathetically.

"A bi-" he began but was cut off by the explosion. The fireworks had been lit and red light flooded the room.

"Fireworks," Sybil said, and then added rather more anxiously, "I hope it doesn't upset the dragons..."

"If they got frightened about explosions, dear, they'd probably all be extinct by now. Of all the pets I've ever known they're the least likely to get spooked by a loud bang."

Sybil nodded, "I suppose you're right."

There was another explosion and a flash of light, green this time. Lady Sybil tightened the bandage. "All done," she said.

"Thank you," Vimes said.

"Not a problem," she replied. 

Vimes glanced around the room and realisation dawned. "Is this, uh, our bedroom?" he said, ears reddening.

Lady Sybil blushed too, the first time he had /ever/ seen her do so. "Well, not if you don't want-"

They were on their own, and as such Vimes had no qualms with kissing her to cut her off. "It's nice. What's the colour called?"

"Uh, Nearly Green," she said. There was another bang and the room was bathed in pink light. "I'm sorry you've had such a bad day,"Sybil said.

"It has its good points," Vimes said, a little gruffly as the memory of handing over his badge still cut deeply. Their lips met briefly again. 

"Come on, we'd better get back downstairs. We have to see everyone out of the door."

Vimes sighed. He could see the days stretching out in front of him filled with endless etiquette and tradition. Sybil took his hand and pulled him gently to his feet with a gentle smile. He looked into her eyes and suddenly remembered the advantages to handing in his badge and becoming a gentleman of leisure. Perhaps they would be enough...

  
  


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Well, I for one was most put out when reading Men At Arms that we weren't invited to the wedding and subsequent reception, so I made one up! Hope you enjoyed it, and the others in this little trilogy - Lunar.


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